


Followed by a Moonshadow

by localswampcrow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Camping, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Dragon Castiel (Supernatural), Dragon!Cas, M/M, Modern Magic, Profound Bond, Writer!Dean, minor drug use mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:28:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localswampcrow/pseuds/localswampcrow
Summary: “I haven’t seen anyone, human or creature, with a grey eye in a really long time, besides myself. And yes, I’ve... never seen a dragon in real life before.” He smiles sheepishly, laughs a bit. “Sorry I asked if you were going to eat me. That was really rude.”Castiel looks mildly surprised, a hint of amusement plays on his lips. “Apology accepted. I think I would regret eating you, anyway. You’re very…” he squints, horns blinking in the sun. “Sparkly.” He decides. “Yes, sparkly.” amusement turns to appetency.-Or the one where Cas is a dragon meets Dean by chance in the woods and then they fall in love.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	Followed by a Moonshadow

**Author's Note:**

> I would never have written this if it weren't for [sharkfish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/), so thank you shark :)
> 
> ~ Did it take long to find me? I asked the faithful light.  
> Did it take long to find me? And are you gonna stay the night?
> 
> I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow  
> Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow ~
> 
> Cat Stevens

Dawn streaks softly through the pines, the sky painted vermillion and gold. Dean zips up the door of his damp-with-dew-tent, tugging at the bottom where it usually catches. Yesterday evening he had attached the rainfly after he staked down the corners, just in case it happened to rain. With a _crack_ at his knees he stands, it’s a call and response with his elbows and spine. He crouches by the stone circled pit in loose sweatpants and a worn purple pull-over that has a hole in the big front pocket.

First camp-out of the season, and though Dean is in such a deep state of serenity, he notices immediately the shift, a collective hush over the woods that has chickadees all but silenced. With metal spatula poised over the travel sized cooking set up, Dean stills, looking around, but does not move yet to get up. To break the stillness there’s a whopping _thud_ and squawk as a pheasant glides out from a bluff about fifty feet in front of him. He starts, half standing up but then is frozen in place as the owner of the _thud_ crawls after the bird, groaning. The first thing Dean notices is the broad blue-green dirt caked wings, dragging on either side of the equally dirty, muscle taught and scale laden torso. _Wings attached to their body and witch black horns pointing skyward._

Dean gapes, watching in disbelief. The dragon pulls himself into the clearing several more feet, in a direct line from where Dean has his mouth hanging open collecting flies. He huffs as his cheek hits the grass. The dragon doesn’t seem to notice Dean’s presence whatsoever, panting face down in pine needles and dew moistened earth. Wings pulsing tenuously. Dean doesn’t move a muscle, though the fire crackles and his breakfast begins to burn.

It’s then that the dragon hoists himself up on dirt stained forearms, whipping his madly tousled, coffee colored hair around to stare straight at Dean with horns looming. Even from this distance Dean can see his eyes, _just one eye?_ glowing of its own accord. One shines, blue like the sky in October, the second is cool and grey, like a slab of slate. Dean can also see his bare chest and stomach, littered with scales that are iridescent even under the smear of wet earth that stretches from just under his horns to the waistline of pants. If you asked Dean to guess what color those pants originally were, he would be wrong, because they look almost black with how soaked in _nature_ they are. 

Dean licks his lips. Fairytales never said that wild dragons would look like _that_ , like he would be the first one to volunteer to taste dirt if he could lick it off of those scales. Something tangible enough to slice through forms in the air between them, thick, static filled. Miraculously, as if they are in synch, Dean can hear the dragon suck in an identical gasp. 

“S-sorry if I uh,” the dragon’s voice comes out low, grating from misused vocal chords, “Sorry if I startled you. No one was here yesterday morning.”

Dean’s jaw snaps shut, surprise ripping through him still as he processes that a _dragon_ just _spoke to him_. Or tries to process anyway . 

Smartly, he says “Uhh, I-I-uhm,” and gulps, “set up l-last night.” then, with a thumb pointed back he gestures behind himself, because that’s a sure way to convey a point in time.

The dragon squirks his lips, eyeing Dean and pulling himself to his feet, cautiously taking a few steps forward. A steady tendril of smoke wafts from the cast iron pan and Dean curses under his breath, torn between fixing the partially ruined meal and continuing to stare at the creature now less than two yards away. Instead of inviting a fire into the pan he tears his eyes away, grabs the potholder and slides the pan off the rack to sizzle on bare ground. 

The clementine sky has turned to tickled pink and then sunrise blue. The rays of late spring light brightening the campsite. The dragon doesn’t stop examining Dean’s face and half risen form, the sun bleached tent (Dean should really invest in a new one) and the fire, but he doesn’t come any closer. Yet. 

“I’m Dean,” he says, “I camp here every spring. Never seen a dragon burst out through the woods while I’m making my breakfast though.” His stuttered laugh surely is a dead giveaway to his nervousness and he grips the handle of the spatula tighter. 

A slight breeze graces over Dean’s exposed forearms, the back of his neck tingling, and almost immediately the dragon is scenting the air, eyes widening before scrutinizing the human even further. Dean looks over his shoulder, half expecting to see another dragon or another creature come barreling out at him, but there’s nothing. Even the birds have picked up their early morning chatter again. 

“I’m called Castiel.” _He speaks again!_ “Hello, Dean.”

“Hi…” _is this a situation where someone waves?_ He doesn’t wave, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly instead. “Are you hungry? I don’t know if you were hunting for food or for sport but… Do you like half-burnt sausages?” He tries for an easy smile but it comes out small and uncertain. _Is this really happening? Maybe I went too hard with the dab pen last night. A dragon? Really. A stupidly dangerous, sexy dragon at my campsite?_

Castiel flaps his wings, once, stretching and knocking off loose dirt before moving towards Dean where he is seated by the fire. It’s not that he is a giant, but he towers over Dean as he looks closer at the freckled face, looking into his eyes once again. The human's eyes are so very much like his own. An echo of something he used to know gently waving at him from somewhere deep in his memory. Dean has beautiful eyes-- one green like the premature shoot of a wild onion, the other grey and blank like a shard of cool slate. 

Dean tries his damn best not to flinch as Castiel casts a soft shadow over him as he peers down at his face. He tried his best not to gasp again in anticipation of - well, he’s not quite sure what. He’s never been in close quarters with a dragon and now he’s within two feet of the one he just met five minutes ago in the woods. Something flickers through Castiel’s eyes - no, only his blue eye - and he flat out smirks this time. 

Alarm grips his insides and Dean doesn’t know whether to flee, or sit perfectly still, or to just start laughing. 

“You’re not gonna eat me, are you?” He says, praying that dragons really aren’t into munching on people in this day and age. 

Castiel steps back, frowning, his wings lowering to appear less intimidating. 

“No no, my apologies. Your eyes, they’re…” he trails off, searching for the right words. Apparently he doesn’t find ones that fit the sense of dejavu he’s having. “They are very beautiful.”

The hot rosey blush that rises in Dean’s cheek is a new accompaniment to the dropping of his jaw, dumbfounded. 

“Uhm, ok. Ah, t-thanks.” He stumbles over the words. “For the not eating me part, and the uh, eyes part.” He cracks a strained smile again while his brain is again a zinging mess of flight, freeze, and _wait, did a dragon just flirt with me???_

He leans over to grab the now cooled pan from the ground and dumps the contents on his plate. 

“I only have the one plate…” still, he holds it out for Castiel to take first pick of the semi-charred bits of meat, who snatches up a quarter of the most burnt parts, stubbed talons dirty with clay down to the soft half-scaled-half-flesh of his unfaltering hands. 

Dean eyes him carefully even as he bites down on a sausage himself. 

“You’ve never seen a dragon before.” Castiel says, it’s not a question. 

“I haven’t seen anyone, human or creature, with a grey eye in a really long time, besides myself. And yes, I’ve... never seen a dragon in real life before.” He smiles sheepishly, laughs a bit. “Sorry I asked if you were going to eat me. That was really rude.”

Castiel looks mildly surprised, a hint of amusement plays on his lips. “Apology accepted. I think I would regret eating you, anyway. You’re very…” he squints, horns blinking in the sun. “Sparkly.” He decides. “Yes, sparkly.” amusement turns to appetency.

Dean sputters, his mouth full, coughing in earnest when it starts to go down the wrong pipe. Castiel looks confused but regretful. Dean recovers with eyes watering and takes a large gulp from a neilgeen. When opens his eyes again Castiel swears that Dean’s eye, the grey one, looks more like… _denim_ past its prime, rather than _cold slate_.

“I’ve never been called, um, ‘sparkly’ before, but I could say the same about you. I would know for sure if you weren’t covered in all that dirt and moss.” 

The blush isn’t leaving his cheeks for a _long_ time. Especially after he meets Castiel’s gaze again and he swears that his eye, the one that was _grey_ and vacant, now looks more like _glade,_ the most vague hue of green.

It turns out that dragons like the same kind of foods as humans do. Or, maybe it’s just this particular dragon. Still, Castiel hangs around Dean’s campsite until the sun goes down. Dean relaxes through the day’s arch, and can’t help himself from catching the dragon’s eyes, which feels like getting glimpses of the pages from a favorite book, but the words change slightly every time he gets a peek. By the end of the day Dean is calling him _Cas_ and they sit together on a blanket in the grass. Castiel can rest his wings, extending them out past Dean’s reach, though he not-so-secretly he wishes he could touch them. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t know the edicate around that sort of thing. Together they stretch out their legs, hairy ones alongside scaly ones.

Dean has a notebook and a deck of tarot cards laid out in front of them and he shows Cas how he shuffles, draws, and lays them out on the blanket in different patterns. Dean shivers at dusk and reignites the fire, inviting Cas to drag the blanket over to the pit so he doesn’t have to sit on the ground, but it’s clear he wouldn’t complain either way. As the sun really threatens the horizon line and the peepers chat with the wood toads, chanting-in the darkness, Cas flies away, soaring like a giant bat above the treetops. Dean hopes he might come back again tomorrow.

  
  
  


_One month later._

The hairs on the back of his neck rise like slow motion reverse dominoes. Cautiously, he shifts his sits bones and for a moment glares starkly at the bland backsplash above the stove. He shakes his head but it doesn’t loosen the feeling of _being watched_. He takes a deep breath and refocuses.

Dean is alone in the kitchen, laptop open to a half written story, keyboard clacking between thinking spells. 1am is usually his good time to write, so he brushes off the obtuse chill at his skin and continues. He types a sentence. Deletes it. Less than 5 minutes later and he's spinning on the stool and hopping up to peek through the curtain, just barely, to look out at the street. 

His gasp is only partly in surprise at what he sees. The other part is best expressed by his muttered, _dammnit, Cas_. 

In an apartment not-too-far from the waterfront, late June is muggy, backtracked by amphibious peeping and incessant buzzing from miskitos that heavily populate the underside of streetlamps. Especially after it rains. The concrete is sticky after a long rain and a day of sun and it shines in rings under the yellow glow from the lamp.

After their first meeting in May, Dean had camped in that same spot every weekend, hoping Castiel would find him again. He was not disappointed. They were drawn to each other. Conversation came easily and eyes lingered far past the normal amount for an unbonded human and an equally unbonded dragon who met at random in the forest one day. In the mornings they ate simple camp breakfasts, and one time Dean let Castiel try his coffee. The dragon had made an acute face of disgust and opted to scrub his tongue clean with dirt. _This is better than the coffee, Dean_ . They take turns asking each other questions but spend most of the days curiously looking at each other, covering it up with unsolicited personal fact sharing and the inevitable blushing. Dean laughs to see how easily distractible by butterflies and toads he is. Cas grins, flashing dragon-sharp teeth in the firelight each time Dean constructs excuses to touch his scales, horns, and eventually his wings. 

Dean quickly pulls _off_ his socks and scrabbles to throw on the black t-shirt that had been sitting crumpled by the front door. He's walking down the short stretch of lawn when he hears him speak.

"Hello, Dean." 

Castiel stands stalk still under the buzzing lamppost. Swirling speckled wings stretched and glossy with the dark sky and lapping lake behind him. The sneakers Dean had let him keep back in May along with a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, look soggy along with the fraying cuffs of the light wash jeans he is wearing. Hands casually in his pockets he stands there at the edge of the grass, across the road, like he's watching the screen of a tamagotchi. 

"Cas, man, you can't just stand out here under the streetlight watching me! Big set of wings creepin around, in this neighborhood, someone’s gonna call the police."

Dean's crossed the skinny excuse of a street and folds his arms across his chest and stands in front of the dragon. Cas cocks his head, grand marbled horns dripping with the reflection from above. 

This is not the first time he's caught Cas out here, but for hours on end he'll just stand there _watching_ . People would think Dean was crazy if he told anyone that a dragon is in love with him. People would want to send _him_ away if he told them he loved the dragon _back._ It is highly unusual for a human to form a bond with a dragon, but when irises aren’t grey anymore, there’s no stopping love _or_ free-will. Dean has one blue eye and one green eye now. Cas has a pair to match. 

"Alright, take your shoes off and leave them on the mat, I don't want mud tracked all over the carpet." 

Memories from the first time the dragon had followed his scent back to the little downtown apartment flash through his mind. He had convinced Cas to strip off the soiled pants in the backyard so Dean could use the hose to wash away the more intense patches of dirt from his scales and matted hair. Fitting Cas and his wings in the shower was a much more complicated, hilarious mission than he expected it to be. But they made it work.

He shucks off the rain and mud soaked sneakers while scoping out every detail of the picture laden walls. He has been inside before, plenty of times now, but it always looks a little different in night vision mode. In fact, the first time Dean let Cas inside it was two weeks after Dean had almost pissed in his pants he was so startled by Cas’s glowing eyes peering through his bedroom window. Inside, Cas had stared at the walls like he planned on drawing the entire layout of Dean's house from memory after he got home to his cave. 

"You're going to show me what you were doing with that square light on the table?" Cas says, curious beyond belief, like he can't believe he'll get to see what Dean was actually doing. 

"Yeah. Laptop, remember? I'll read you the story I'm working on. It’s not done yet, but-."

His explanation is cut short because this offer to _share_ has Cas leaning in to plant a fiery kiss against Dean's lips. He can't do much besides stumble back in surprise before Dean’s kissing back, a little confused but giggling anyway against the dragon's mouth. Castiel is probably the most dorky, excitable dragon Dean has ever heard of. One of the many details about variations in dragon behavior that the storybooks completely failed to mention.

"That whole thing about dragons hoarding treasures, that doesn't just mean literal 'treasure', does it?" Dean says and keeps grinning.

"No,” Cas pants, either from the kiss or thinking about the treat waiting for him within the tale, “it's different for every dragon. I particularly like stories. And anything that smells like you." He says innocently enough, almost like he hadn't said it out loud before. 

Dean smirks. "Ok. Good to know." And he pats the stool next to him as he resumes his place in front of the laptop on the island. 

"This is my computer for school, but, I might spend more time on here writing stories. Oops." he shrugs.

Cas looks at it with saucers for eyes and a hungry curl of a smile. 

“Once upon a time,’ Dean says in his grand storytelling voice, “there was a boy who dreamed of flying, and of rain drops made of sunshine…”

That night he fell asleep curled into a sea blotched, leathery wing and Cas evenly snoring in his ear. Some mornings, Cas waits to say goodbye, waking Dean for before dawn for a brief _I love you. I must go back to my cave now_. And some mornings Dean wakes alone in bed and looks over to the empty space beside him and the sun streaked pillow next to his head. Without fail Castiel leaves behind a gift, usually a small flower. Trout Lilies as long as they last into June, Thimbleberry blossoms in August and forget-me-nots until they’re all gone for the season. Dean religiously presses each one of them between the pages of a King novel and pretends not to notice how his t-shirts keep going missing after Cas leaves.

  
  
  


_Two weeks later_

Charlie laughs, her face lighting up through the computer screen and Dean drops his head, shoulders shaking. They don't get to see each other in person a whole lot, so this is the next best solution. 

"You can't hide how many times you've watched _Dirty Dancing_ from me, Dean. I see you."

He covers his eyes with a hand and shakes his head.

"What do you want from me? It’s not like I’m gonna choose between _Baby_ and _Swayze_. ”

“So that means you need to watch it twice as many times as a normal person?” She cracks at him, red hair bouncing as she snickers.

He grins, waving a hand “Yeah, yeah whatever." And sticks his tongue out at her.

He's about to change the topic when a dog starts barking loud enough that Charlie can hear it too. The blinds are cracked, and through the sunny triangle he can't see into the street. He frowns when the dog doesn't shut up. He's about to open his mouth to tell her he could move to a different room, the sharp yip of the dog already making his ears bleed, when he hears a shuddering roar and an abrupt yelping in replacement of the yapping.

"Oh, motherfucker." Then he shoots up out of his seat between the island and the stove, telling Charlie to hold on, he'll _be right back_. 

"Was that a roar? Dean, is that a _dragon_?" 

But he's halfway across the street to where Castiel is standing in broad daylight, wings stretched and horns glittering in the bright mid-July sun. A black and brown pomeranian skitters off down the block. 

"Cas! What are you _doing_ here?" And then after the charred patch of grass catches his eye, "did you _breathe fire_ at a _dog_? It's the middle of the day!" 

His incredulous stage whisper is severe enough to make the dragon duck his head, embarrassed momentarily but still squinting, looking between where the dog had stood and where Dean is now in front of him. He’s forgotten what personal space is. 

Dean looks around, checking the street and the nearby windows for onlookers before he takes Cas's hand. 

"C'mon, come inside with me. I really friggin hope no one saw that."

With furrowed brows Cas follows him back up the walk and inside the cozy apartment. 

"Dean! Deeeeanooo!" Charlie sing-songs through the speakers just loud enough to be heard by them in the mudroom. Dean points to Cas’s shoes and he quickly flips them off. "I'm still here, what happened out there? Is there a dragon? Is it the one you were telling me about?" 

Cas is still holding Dean's hand when he freezes, looking around wildly for the strange voice that seems to come from nowhere. 

"It's ok, it's just Charlie, she's on the computer." Cas frowns. "I was on a video call with her while you were trying to barbecue my neighbor’s dog." 

"I wasn't- I-“ he huffs, nostrils flaring, “it kept barking. It wouldn't leave. I just wanted to see you." It comes out cross, like the dog offended him. After all, it probably did, he was only taking up his usual spot under the streetlamp, though right now it’s mid afternoon instead of the dead of night. 

"Baby, I know you weren't, it's a joke. He's probably never seen a dragon like you before. Dogs are kind of stupid sometimes." He pulls Cas into a soothing hug, then a quick kiss, and Cas huffs again. 

Dean pulls back to search his eyes gently. "You really can't blow fire at dogs though, especially not in the middle of the day, ok? I could get in really deep shit for that."

Now nervous, Cas says, "Oh. Ok. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Dean steals one more kiss before Charlie is piping up again from inside the computer. _He breathed fire at a dog!?_

Dean tugs him to the island and behind the computer to look at Charlie through the screen. She gasps at seeing Castiel, the dragon who Dean has formed a bond with, for the first time. The magic charged cornflower blue eye is an exact replica - the original - to Dean's matching blue one, and Dean’s sparkling spring green eye is mirrored on the other side of Cas's face. The last lingering hue of grey having resided, replaced by blue and green respectively. Not that Dean didn’t notice the first time he looked in the mirror and saw, _felt,_ the jolt of electricity crackle through that wild dragon eye that now peered out of his own head.

"Woah…" 

Cas hovers close to Dean, wings twitching as he glares through the frame. 

"Cas, this is my best friend Charlie, who I told you about. Charlie, this is Cas." She wipes the dumbstruck look off her face and replaces it with a wide smile, waving a hand at him. 

"Hi, Cas! It's soooo good to finally see you! I've heard so much about you. Wow. Your wings are _incredible!_ " 

He raises his eyebrows at Dean now, hesitant. "I know the whole video-thing is kinda weird. Just say hi. Or anything you want." He smiles encouragingly.

"Hello." He says, like the word is new in his mouth. Then after a beat, "it's nice to… see you." Out of frame Dean gives him a small thumbs up, so he smiles back at Charlie, flashing his sharp canines. 

Charlie absolutely beams. "This is so cool."

Dean rolls his eyes and Cas has that confused look on his face again that shouldn't be so cute on a dragon, but is. 

"So Cas, I assume you didn't stop by just to torment the neighborhood animals…” Charlie teases and then bites her tongue when Dean gives her a warning look.

“No, I needed to see Dean because I missed him. Also, the articles of clothing he let me borrow no longer smell like him, and I require additional cassette tapes.” He says matter of factly. 

At that she quickly claps a hand over her mouth not to burst open with surprised laughter and Dean blushes so hard he feels his face burn. Castiel looks between the screen and the tomato next to him and squints _again_ before realizing his misstep. 

“Ah, I see that was not the appropriate response?” Then, hushed and directed at Dean, “I thought you said ‘honesty is the best policy’?” 

Charlie is still wide eyed, but smiling again without a hand to cover it up. 

“It is, it’s just that that’s not really how humans talk about each other, even if they are partners.” 

“Oh.”

“The missing me part is an on target excuse for showing up unannounced, though.”

“Right. Ok.” 

Turning back to Charlie, who’s pretending not to hear their entire sidebar, Cas blinks a couple times before re-framing his answer. 

“Charlie, I came here to see Dean, I love him and I missed him, dearly. I had no intention of ‘barbecuing’ a pomeranian.” He’s smiling, proud of his now perfectly corrected reason for flying by on a Thursday afternoon.

Dean only rolls his eyes a little before he’s overcome with the calming zing that sparks down his spine whenever Cas’s magic flashes across each of their blue eyes. The same electric glow he saw that very first time they met.

Charlie sits back to witness this little, magic charged exchange. Her eyes have both held color - bright green and chocolate brown - for a long time now. She got lucky and formed a bond with Dorothy, the girl she fell in love with in high school. In all the years that Dean has been Charlie’s best friend she’s never seen him like this. Happy and cared for and in love in a more-than-friends way. More literally she’s never seen him pressed up against a dragon in his kitchen, either. The being loved for all his quirks and sparkle part is less of a mental stretch.

“Dean,” she says softly, “don’t ever let him go.”


End file.
